


I’m A Marytr For Your Love

by sagilarious



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Catholicism, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Like a little, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Vomiting, akira is confused but into it, catholic eroticism should be a tag it’s what i write the most, manga-verse, ryo is a sadist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 18:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13746669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagilarious/pseuds/sagilarious
Summary: The idea of faith in some almighty heavenly father seemed ridiculous to him growing up, but he couldn't knock catholics on being right about a few things.Demons, for instance.Dante was Catholic, after all; Hieronymus Bosch, too, and Ryo could say with confidence they'd gotten quite a bit right about the horrid creatures. Their sadism, their horrifying supernatural bodies; but lately Ryo hadn't been paying much attention to the study of demons. They existed far too close off the page, after all. No, in his free time recovering he had been preoccupied with martyrs.Catholics, for all their forgiving god, really seem to think the best way to serve him is to die violently in his honor. As if the sadism of evil only exists to prove the masochism of pure good, Ryo found himself thinking. What was so holy about receiving punishment and pain? God sounded no better than a devil himself.





	I’m A Marytr For Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a day before crybaby aired, looking at the tags lack of good ryokira smut...now there isn’t so much of a deficit for sure. God bless devilman crybaby, but my favorite ryo will probably always be manga ryo. Remember kids, just because Satan can shoot heroin AND take pills doesn’t mean you can! You’ll die! Hope you enjoy.

 

Asuka Ryo’s mother passed away when he was very young, but the large house his family lived in had traces of her everywhere.

  
His father, being an archaeologist, was often away in other countries on expeditions or research trips; showing in museums and such while Ryo went to school, stayed home. His father was loathe to talk about his mother while home, seemingly too sad or too tired to ever muster the effort. Ryo figured he was too absent to notice his mother’s things, littered around the house like a secret treasure map.

  
Ryo’s mother was Catholic. It was apparent in the constant appearance of crosses on her things; rosaries hanging from picture frames, silver t shapes on the spines of books. She had much religious art, mostly reproductions of La Pieta by Michelangelo. Ryo began to memorize the slackness of the savior’s face, the serene yet beautiful agony over her son’s death in Mary’s chiseled expression.

  
The irony of his mother dying before himself didn't escape his black humor. The idea of faith in some almighty heavenly father seemed ridiculous to him growing up, but he couldn't knock catholics on being right about a few things.

  
Demons, for instance.

  
Dante was Catholic, after all; Hieronymus Bosch, too, and Ryo could say with confidence they'd gotten quite a bit right about the horrid creatures. Their sadism, their horrifying supernatural bodies; but lately Ryo hadn't been paying much attention to the study of demons. They existed far too close off the page, after all. No, in his free time recovering he had been preoccupied with martyrs.

  
Catholics, for all their forgiving god, really seem to think the best way to serve him is to die violently in his honor. As if the sadism of evil only exists to prove the masochism of pure good, Ryo found himself thinking. What was so holy about receiving punishment and pain? God sounded no better than a devil himself.

  
Not that he had any qualms about causing pain. After all, he hurt the person he loved more than anyone; it didn't seem fair that he couldn't grant Akira Fudo some divine right for that.

  
Akira very well may have damned his soul for the sake of saving humanity, becoming Devilman. Ryo thought about it as he noted the changes in his pure, shy friend: broader shoulders, deeper set brow, a sheen to his brown eyes. No, those weren't the important changes; the important changes were in his violence. Akira had gained a love of violence unparalleled to any human before him! In becoming a weapon for humanity, he had lost some of his own.

  
Ryo dreamnt about this, haunted by images of Akira ripping apart demons one after the other, bathing in a sea of their blood and viscera. Often, he'd wake up panting in a cold sweat, so certain of the mistake he had made, so sure Fudo Akira no longer existed and in his place was only a devil with his face.

  
Not as often, he'd wake up hard.

  
Fudo Akira is a martyr, Ryo thought. Not for any God, nor any religion; Akira is a martyr for me, he thought, and came with a grunt.

  
He was finally out of the hospital after being injured yet again by Siren. Sometimes Ryo hated that he hadn't succeeded in fusing with a demon like Akira had, but those thoughts never lasted very long. In the end, his knowledge still protected him a lot more than regular humans, anyway. He was sat at home, flipping through files even as his mind wandered. Akira would probably stop by to check on him, tell him if he'd fought any demons lately. He was loyal like that.

  
Like clockwork, his friend knocked on the door of his study. Ryo had finally gotten him into the habit of letting himself in instead of knocking on the front door, but he still never let himself into his room without Ryo’s permission. It stung all the more than even a demon couldn't tarnish Akira’s natural inclination towards manners.

  
Akira let in, Ryo’s body startled into awareness as it sometimes did around him. He was aware of his posture, his clothes, his smell. When did he last bathe? Did his study smell of mold, or of the dusty vanilla of worn pages? Akira had never commented on these things to him. Akira had given him perfunctory compliments, on his expensive car or his coat. His mind still made the checklist anyway.

  
Ryo asked Akira about a bruise under his cheek; he had healed enough to reattach a fucking arm, but he had a bruise?  
“Oh, this? Lucky shot from some school punks. Nothing to worry about, they weren't demonic so I took care of them quickly.” Akira told him with a wave, but a suppressed smirk like the idea of pummeling some delinquents brought him joy. Ryo thought it probably did, now.

  
Ryo hadn't seen Akira bruise since before Devilman. They must have gotten at him with a steel bat, or something solid. He looked like some cheesy action star: immaculate everywhere but one lightly bruised cheek. A bruise worn like a lip print, nothing to question because you know what it means: this man had seen violence and come out almost unscathed. It was doing more to Ryo than when he saw Akira eviscerated on the ground just a week earlier.

  
He gets hurt, so he can hurt back, Ryo reasons. There's that moral high ground there; Devilman or no Akira doesn't fight indiscriminately just because he can. No, he only fights those who hurt others; poor, innocent, weak humans. Ryo wonders if Akira thinks of him as weak. Being taller, broader and stronger than him, Ryo wouldn't blame Akira for that take.

  
It didn't seem like him, still. Ryo stood from the chair he'd been perched in and idled at his bookshelf as Akira told him about a demon who'd accosted him on the walk over. Akira always told him who he'd fought, how he'd torn them apart (The glee in the victory was for the greater good, of course). Almost every day he saw him, confided in him. No, Ryo should know from the moment they each put on the demon’s mask and were shown the truth they two were allies and equals.

  
For me, Ryo remembers, Akira martyrs himself for me. Ryo has never directly hurt Akira, but that doesn't make him less complicit in his fall from grace. What grace could be lost, if Akira has maintained his beauty? Does his holy act make for the man Ryo loves, or is it his damnation that draws Ryo in?

  
Akira’s brow is furrowed at him, questioning as Ryo lingers in thoughtful silence. He can see the variation or skin tone at the fading bruise; a tinge of yellow, almost green edges the pinks and purples of blood welling under the skin. When had Ryo gotten this close?You hurt yourself for me, Ryo thought. Why is it that I want to hurt you myself?

  
Ryo grabbed Akira’s arm and leaned into him. He placed himself towards Akira’s pulsepoint, hovering there for a moment to soak in the other man’s stuttering question of his motive. He made an inconsequential sound, and bit down on Akira’s neck.

  
Ryo was shoved away hard enough to fly onto his back a few feet away. In the tense silence, he began laughing.

  
“What the fuck is up with you, man?!” Akira growled, a bestial tone edging his voice. “Are you on something?”

  
Ryo was on several things; he hardly saw how it was relevant.

  
“Fucking christ, Ryo.” he heard rather than saw Akira sigh, as he'd stay prone on the floor during his admission. Ryo saw no point in getting up, but he felt two hands grip under his armpits and haul him up to standing. “Cmon.”

  
Ryo followed Akira down the hall, into the bathroom. Akira grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to his knees. Just as all of Ryo’s blood was about to rush towards a hopeful arousal pooling in his stomach, Akira grabbed the back of his neck and shoved his face into the toilet.

  
What, are we doing swirles now? Ryo scoffed.

  
“Don't be stupid. Puke it up.” Akira said, and the lightbulb went off in Ryo’s head. He didn't usually think of himself as slow on the uptake but he had gone through a lot of wrong scenarios there. Still, sobering up seemed unnecessary.

  
“It's necessary when you're going around picking fights with people who are stronger than you,” Akira says into his ear, that ever present rasp in tone seeming to turn his warning sensual. Ryo wasn't so sure he'd avoided popping a boner like he initially thought.

  
Akira grabbed the back of his blond hair, and shoved two fingers deep into Ryo’s mouth until he jabbed the back of his throat. Ryo gagged, thoughts ending there as he gripped at the toilet seat enraged, this was unnecessary! His throat convulsed and Akira’s hand held his head in place no matter how hard he thrashed backwards. Ryo gagged once, twice more and emptied his stomach with Akira’s fingers on his tongue.

  
His hand had gone from gripping to caressing as Ryo puked up a bit more bile with his cheek resting on the toilet seat. Akira’s other hand had disappeared; he distantly hoped he didn't just wipe vomit onto his school uniform.  
Ryo must have made some noise, as Akira began shushing him. “You'll be fine. I'll go get you some water,” he said in a tone that seemed a little guilty, getting up. Ryo flushed down his vomit as Akira left the small bathroom.

  
Ryo didn't have the heart to admit to Akira some of the shit he was on he’d injected, not eaten.

  
By the time Akira returned with a glass, Ryo had cleaned his wet face and was almost done brushing his teeth. This made Akira’s face look gloriously pained, and he set down his water.

  
“I'm glad you seem well now. You know, you could overdose if you don't quit messing around with dangerous substances like that Ryo.” Akira chided him, worried. Ryo drank the water after rinsing, and shook his head at Akira’s good natured concern. It wasn't like the drugs had made him do anything he didn't already want to do.

  
Akira’s eyes seemed to glow in focus, darkening. “What?”

  
Drugs didn't make me bite you, Ryo explained.

  
Akira’s eyebrows shot up “Then why the fuck would you? It seemed to me you wouldn't pick a fight with your closest friend!”

  
Ryo couldn't help it, he let out a laugh. Akira was glaring at him now, but that just made it funnier. God, he forgot how much of a virgin Akira was.

  
“Would you quit makin’ fun of me…” He grumbled lowly, cheeks pink. “I don't get you, Ryo.”

“I wanted to hurt you, so I did.” Ryo stated with finality. Not very well, as he'd gotten thrown on the ground soon after but, semantics.

  
Akira seemed to sputter at him, caught off guard in a way he usually wasn't nowadays. “Y-you wanted to what?! Why the fuck would you want to fight me?!”

  
No, god, not fighting. Ryo reasoned he should be frank; “You get hurt to protect humanity all the time. You're constantly fighting and hurting others so us humans can be safe from demons, so we have a chance at survival. But that's not the only kind of hurting.” He turned off the bathroom light, and moved through the doorway, beckoning Akira to follow. Ryo moved their conversation to the study, Akira wary as he sat down on a recliner couch further away from him.

  
“Have you ever heard the phrase la petite mort?” Ryo asked Akira; the latter shook his head, so he continued. “It's french for the little death. It's a euphemism for orgasm.” Akira looked shocked and pink again, Ryo was drinking in the reactions with a smug satisfaction. Akira stuttered out an embarrassed note, but Ryo continued: “A succinct expression to encompass the human leaning towards the mixture of pleasure and pain. Nothing about death reminds one of fucking, and yet release is constantly associated with violence: you fuck someone, you fuck someone up. One word to change the context entirely; this is just the linguistics of course. There's much more to explain it than that.”

  
Ryo was standing in from of Akira of the couch now, his spine rod straight as Ryo leaned in and swayed like a bird of prey. Playing dead would do Akira no good. “I want to hurt you. You're constantly dealing in violence as Devilman, no? Fighting flows through your veins, you do it every day now. You hurt demons, of course, which is the right thing to do but haven't you ever hurt a human? I’m sure you have. You did just today, after school.” Akira’s spine finally bends, his chest puffed out to defend himself. Ryo thinks _good_ and places his hands on Akira’s broad shoulders. “How does it feel for you, fighting? The violent instincts you inherited from the demon you fused with must make it pleasant, pleasurable even. Surely even as virginal as you may be, you understand pain and pleasure can be one and the same.”

  
Ryo sat himself onto Akira’s thighs, grabbing at the collar of his school uniform. “Have you ever left a fight where the adrenaline got you hard?” Akira gaped at him as he finally paused, leaned back to rest his weight on Akira’s knees. Ryo smoothed his hands down Akira’s chest, just a little. “I want to hurt you, I want to fuck you. I want you to hurt me, fuck me, whatever. It makes sense, doesn't it?”

  
Akira’s hands were flexing at his sides, minutely. Ryo waited, he'd been waiting for years he could wait a few more seconds. This was as close as he'd even been to getting what he really wanted from his best friend; he might as well try for it before. Before what, he can't know.

  
“So you bit me...because you like me,” Akira began, and Ryo snorted. Akira had rested one hand on his thigh, though, and that was promising.

  
“Sure,” he offered. Ryo loved Akira, so he was over simplifying but close enough.

  
“And biting can...feel good?” Akira offered, to Ryo’s smug expression, all teeth.

  
“It can.”

  
A pause, and then “Ryo?”

  
Ryo nodded, brushing his hands delicately down Akira’s pectorals.  
“Kiss me first.” Akira stated simply, and like in the bathroom Ryo’s brain went through several iterations before arriving at the reality of his situation. Ryo slammed his lips against Akira’s, hard enough to bruise.

  
Akira had at least kissed someone before, Ryo could tell by the insistent pressure of his mouth. Akira kissed the way he imagined back in middle school; polite, yielding. Ryo wanted to ruin that softness, so he kissed like he felt: hungry. Ryo’s tongue thrust into Akira’s mouth sloppily, pulling and pressing at the others until he could suck it into his mouth and bite. He pulled Akira’s bottom lip between his, stretching and bruising.

  
Akira was noisier than he expected, with sighs and throaty noises seemingly ripped from him as Ryo assault his mouth. He'd gripped onto Ryo’s hair just like he had earlier, forcing him to stay near, to keep going and consume the sounds with his lips. Ryo fucking loved it. Maybe the demon Amon had been some kind of incubi because Ryo was already hard and dizzy with it after just a little kissing.

  
Maybe it was just Akira. He’d always been a terrible fucking weakness.

  
Tugging his trench coat off and onto the floor, Ryo trailed hard kisses down Akira’s jaw. Akira paused the hand caressing his back through the thin shirt he wore as Ryo licked at his neck. Well, if he hadn't flinched surely it was fine, he reasoned, so Ryo bit down on the skin and sucked. Akira tasted salty and smelled like musk and it was making his cock leak with how strong it all was with his teeth on his neck right where the jugular vein throbbed with his heartbeat. The body of a demon, the heart of a man, Ryo thought as Akira let out a hissing, desperate sound and ripped a hole in his shirt with his desperate clawing at Ryo.

  
He couldn't help but laugh a little, pulling back just to tug the ruined shirt overhead. In the pause, Ryo was able to see how fucking delicious Akira looked with bruised, spit slicked lips and a crooked collar before his regular impatience caught up. More, Ryo’s selfish heart callen, more, anything you can take, anything he’ll give. Akira had already given Ryo almost everything, but the almost was an itch he had to scratch. Through his spiralling thoughts, Akira had managed to get shirtless as well and Ryo should definitely pay attention to that.

  
Akira was panting onto his mouth as Ryo scratched his nails up from the waistband of his school slacks to his pecs. Ryo licked Akira’s lips, distracting, and then pinched both nipples roughly.

  
The shocked grunt that left Akira’s lips made Ryo grind down on his lap. God, why wasn't his dick getting any attention here? Akira’s hands sat warmly gripping his hips, that's why, so Ryo took a hands on approach and dragged one of them to the crotch of his pants and humped into it. Akira gasped and trembled beneath him, freezing up. Ryo stopped too, having a momentarily sobering realization: was Akira just humoring him? He could be strictly heterosexual, kissing wasn't much but touching another man’s dick might be crossing the line.

  
“Is. Is this all right?” Ryo asked with uncharacteristic hesitance. Taking something Akira wasn't willing to give wasn't appealing to him at all.

  
Akira met his gaze, bashful and flushed. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” he admits, and Ryo fights the urge to grin. Of course you haven't, “Would you like to with me? Now?”

  
Akira groans and nuzzles his face into Ryo’s neck, tender yet somehow equally erotic to Ryo while he's sat on his lap. The skin of their chests is pressed together, and Akira squeezes him closer in embarrassment, he can feel his hard on. Well, that's promising.

  
“Obviously, but I don't know _how_ ,” Akira says after a tantalizing moment kissing any part of Ryo’s neck he could reach.

  
“Well,” Ryo said, managing to sound less smug and more breathless. This annoyed him, so he stood up and undid his pants swiftly. “Take off your pants and I’ll try something shall I?”

  
Akira hurried to comply, standing and giving him a kiss that was all tongue and teeth. He was a quick learner, Ryo noted dizzily. He wanted to destroy him.

  
Both stark naked, they pulled away to observe each other. Ryo and Akira had seen each other naked before, of course, in childhood or in locker rooms at school but Ryo hadn't seen this Akira before. He sheened with a layer of sweat, the twin scars at his shoulders perfect arrows leading down his pectorals, drawing the eye lower and lower still to his cock. Ryo idly wondered if the girth there was god-given, or if Amon really was some sort of sex demon; it was fucking gorgeous either way.

  
Ryo was almost startled by the gutteral noise Akira let out as he looked him over, pulling Ryo in closer by his ass and kneading as their cocks brushed against each other. “Uggh, your dick is so wet,” Akira panted into his ear, tugging at the lobe of it with his fangs. Ryo felt himself let out a groan at that, one hand trailing red bloody lines down Akira’s back as the other reached between them to give his dick a squeeze. Akira’s breath stuttered, and Ryo pushed him back down onto the couch.

  
“This,” Ryo stated clinically, grabbing both their cocks in one hand. “is called frottage. It's, mm, have you heard of it?”

Akira didn't seem to be prepared to answer, teeth biting into his bottom lip in a look of pained concentration. Ah yes, there's the pained expression of a martyr, Ryo thought. His cock leaked at the thought, and he yanked at Akira’s hair to assault his lips once more, masking the desperate noise welling in his throat.

  
Using the pre cum between the two of them, Ryo’s cum slicked hand jerked them off in a steady rhythm. Akira seemed to like an quick, punishing pace and when his hand focused on the head, his eyes almost crossed with pleasure. He was getting noisier and Ryo was drowning in the sounds, sounds Akira made for him and no one else. Akira said please, always so polite, he said how good he felt. When he wasn't being kissed it seemed all he could do was talk, like he might explode otherwise.

  
Something possessive in Ryo’s heart reared its ugly head, and demanded more. “Aakira,” he held out, panting, moving his hand faster between them, “Say my name.”

  
Akira met his eyes, suddenly shy as if he hadn’t been begging and moaning for Ryo to touch him anyway. He looks away, breathing harshly, but then looks back with such a heat Ryo may burn at the stake. “Ryo,” he whispers, filthy, like a secret. With a surprised groan, Ryo cums first, toes curling and head thrown back.

  
Akira gasps as Ryo comes back from his high, smearing his release over Akira’s cock. Marking his territory, how primitive; it didn't stop the image from giving Ryo a harsh shiver in the afterglow, though.

  
“Oh, _Ryo_ , please, faster,” Akira moaned, moaned his name and Ryo would do anything for him, kill for him, die for him, he wanted to taste his sweat and cum and blood on his tongue. He spend up his hand, thumbing Akira’s slit while the other pumped at a brutal pace, Akira’s abdomen quivering. As his panting reached a crescendo, Ryo leaned in to lick at Akira’s shoulder and bite, canines digging into his skin scraping and tasting, savoring the feeling. Akira came with a pained shout, guttural and trembling while Ryo sucked away at the blood welling from him bite.

  
Dizzily, Ryo thought of Saint Sebastian pinned to a tree with arrow wounds gaping as Akira rubbed at his back. “Ryo, Ryo, Ryo,” he murmured absentmindedly, brushing a kiss to his temple. He relinquished Akira’s shoulder from his teeth with a pop, looking at the bruise left and the skin flushed pink around it with smeared bleeding; Ryo felt bone-deep satisfaction.

  
They stayed embraced for a moment, relishing in skin touching skin. Ryo pulled back to look at Akira, the person he loved most, and found the flush of a good fuck made him glow like a heavenly light. A perfect martyr, glistening and injured; Ryo smiled and pressed harshly onto a bruise darkening Akira’s neck with the hand still covered in his cum.

  
“Ah,” Akira flushed, grabbing a tissue from the side table next to the couch “Here.” he added shyly, cleaning off Ryo’s hand for him. He was radiant. Ryo may have said so out loud, because Akira rewarded him with a shy grin “That’s nice to hear, coming from you. You’ve always been so…” Akira looks away as if thinking. Ryo raises an eyebrow, getting off him to put his clothes back on. Akira stutters while he bends down to grab his pants and Ryo can’t help but laugh.

  
“I’m so what, Akira?”

  
“You _know_ , don’t be an asshole. Girls fall all over you!” Akira insists, pulling up his own pants with a huff. Ryo hardly sees how women are relevant when he’s not interested in them in the least. Akira looks at him searchingly, and nods. “I guess, that checks out. You never did give a girl the time of day.”

  
Fully dressed but a little lethargic, Ryo sits back down on the couch inelegantly. “I don’t have times for things like that.”

  
Akira was looking at him funny again, but all Ryo could see is the pink of his lips. Hormones were dangerous things; he could probably get hard again just looking at Akira well-fucked this way.

Akira says, “But you do have time for things like me?”

  
Ryo’s not certain what he means, brows furrowed.

  
“I mean,” Akira snarls, “are we together or what?”

  
Ryo blinks at him. They’ve always been together; since middle school there wasn’t a moment wasted not at Akira’s side if he could help it. The context sinks in, eventually, and Ryo laughs as Akira lets out a frustrated noise. Ryo calls Akira’s name.

  
“We’ve been together, as far as i’m concerned, ever since you took on the burden of my father's legacy with me.” He admits, grabbing for Akira’s hand and holding it between his own. “Fucking doesn’t change that, Akira. It’s always been.”

  
Akira looks momentarily shocked, his dark eyes rounding in a way that reminds Ryo of his softness, that purity even a demon, even he couldn’t taint. Akira smiles, and kisses Ryo.

  
Ryo’s heart aches in his chest. He’d taken and taken from Akira Fudo, hurt and lied and perverted him but somehow still, Akira decided to give Ryo the one thing he’d never asked of him. He hadn’t realized it wasn’t his pain, or his body—Ryo knew from one kiss that it was his love.


End file.
